


The Zone

by AstroPhantom



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Animal Abuse, Dash abuse arc, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroPhantom/pseuds/AstroPhantom
Summary: Dash has finally had the last straw when his abusive father goes too far. But where does he go to move on?





	1. Danger Zone

_Click. Open. Click again._

There were nearly thirty tabs open on Dash’s faded computer screen, all of them videos from various sites of football passes, snaps, punts, touchdowns–basically any footage he could find to study over for the upcoming football season. Casper High may have lost the championship by two touchdowns, but Dash was more determined than ever to make sure that never happened again. He might have failed most of his classes the past year (due to a distinct lack of effort), but when it came to football, he was all business.

As he pored over different huddle techniques, Dash spared a glance to his right at his chihuahua, Pookie, napping peacefully on his mattress, his little chest rising up and down in content. Another involuntary look over his left shoulder assured him that his subtle warning system–an extra helmet propped against his door, which would move and make noise if the door opened–was in place.

Good. Dash could only relax so much when  _he_  was in the house, so every precaution counted. The door’s lock, having been busted about two months ago in a flurry of rage, was beyond repair. And if history was any indication, his “father’s” head should be nodding backwards on the couch any second after the consumption of one-too-many beers and the lulling soundtrack of informercials blaring on the TV set in the background.

Set up for the night, Dash turned forward again, picking up his soda and sipping diligently through the straw while his eyes stayed glued to the screen. A few minutes later, he could hear Pookie ruffling his comforter as he woke up and stretched.

A few more minutes into the next video, Pookie jumped onto the rug below and started to yap at the back of Dash’s desk chair.

Dash, too engrossed in his footage, only mumbled, “Be quiet, boy…”

The dog simply continued his endeavors, his barks growing louder and more annoying with each passing second.

“Come on, Pookie, I’m trying to-”

It was the sound of heavy footsteps storming down the hallway that finally broke Dash’s focus.

“Oh,  _shit_.”

There was about five seconds left before all hell broke loose.

Dash turned around in his swivel chair, bending forward towards the ground to desperately calm his dog down. “Pookie, please. You can’t make noise!”

_Slam._  Dash’s door swung open, practically cracking the door and sending the helmet spiraling across the floor to hit his dresser.

Peter Baxter stood dangerously in the doorway, dressed in ripped-up muddy jeans and a stained undershirt that barely covered a slight beer belly. His brown hair and beard both were overgrown and unkempt, and his eyes were glazed over with the signature of alcohol. He glared at Dash.

“If you don’t shut that damn mutt up then  _I_  will.” As if to back up his threat, he stumbled a few steps in towards the chihuahua, who subconsciously backed away towards the bed but still continued to yap loudly.

“Okay, geez. I’m trying. I think he just wants to go outside for a bit,” Dash answered as he bristled at his dad’s audacity. Under his breath he added, “And he’s not a mutt. But I know who is.”

“What was that, boy?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey! When I ask you something, you answer me! What did you say?” Peter was only a few feet away from him now.

“I said… _he’s_  not a mutt.” Dash stared with an implied undertone at the older man. His head pounded with adrenaline at his own attempt to backfire his dad’s insult.

The subtext flew over his drunken head. “Yeah he is. Don’t try to change what I already know. And dammit, boy, that rat’s still making noise! Guess I gotta shut it up myself.”

“NO! Don’t touch him!” Dash lunged forward as his dad reached down to grab Pookie by the scruff of his neck. His tackle sent both men into the wall before Dash scrambled back quickly, standing up defensively but still holding his ground. Pookie was off to the side, cowering in fear now.

“Did you just  _tackle_  me?” Peter raged as he stood up with difficulty. “Wrong move, boy.”

In the next moment everything started to move in slow motion for Dash. His dad pushed him squarely in the chest, sending him backwards to crash into his desk chair. As he fell, Peter picked Pookie up again with one hand and threw the small body against the far wall, watching in satisfaction as the dog lay unmoving along the baseline.

Dash sat in shock on the floor, before anger bubbled up and overtook his common sense, causing him to bounce back on his feet and shove his father with more force than he knew he had. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peter ignored his question, bracing himself as he got back up. He rubbed the back of his head where it had hit the wall. “Now you’re asking for it.” He didn’t mince any more words, instead taking the opportunity to grab Dash by his collar and throw him violently to the ground.

Dash only had a second to breathe before he felt a foot meet with his abdomen, the wind effectively knocked out of him. He cringed in anticipation of the second kick, thinking to himself,  _Not again_. He was sick of his dad’s abusive nights, which seemed to be more frequent lately. The fact that he had harmed Pookie though refueled his spirit with vengeance, causing him to roll on his back and yank his dad’s leg to bring him to his level.

The two rolled around on the ground, trying to get punches in here and there. Peter’s fury only seemed to grow with each daring hit his son landed, which made him drunkenly backlash with harder hits of his own.

At some point, Dash found a chance to stand up, taking a second to recuperate as the older man got up much more slowly.

“What’s the matter, boy? Too upset over your dumb rat mutt to fight anymore?”

Dash felt something snap in his head. “I hate you. Rot in hell.”

Without even giving him time to process the words, Dash brought his fist back and threw as much power as he could into the resounding knockout hit that landed on Peter’s nose. His grubby hands flew to his face as he fell backward unconscious on the floor.

Dash felt numb, his knuckles still ringing from the impact. He needed to get out of there, far away from that monster before he woke up. Letting his brain snap back into focus, he reached far under his bed and grabbed the backpack he kept at the ready for moments like this. It had extra clothes, a first-aid kit, some food and money, and an old spare cellphone he had reactivated secretly under Kwan’s name, who was the only other person who knew about the emergency number.

Fortunately, Dash was still wearing his shoes from the day, so all he had to do was grab his letterman jacket and slip it on, before he slung the backpack on his shoulders and found a hoodie in his dresser that he gently wrapped the still-unconscious Pookie in. The dog had a severe gash on his head from hitting the wall, but otherwise seemed relatively unharmed. Still, he needed to find him help fast. He cradled the bundle in the crook of his arm and made his way down the stairs and out the front door.

Dash started to jog down the sidewalk, wanting to get distance between him and the house as fast as possible. He wasn’t certain where to go first, but all he knew for sure in that moment was that he done with that place. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally inspired by textsfromghosts and their Dash abuse arc. Love the angst in text form!


	2. Safety Zone

The streets felt colder than Dash expected for summer, making him thankful for the thick protective layer of his letterman jacket. Instinctively, he brought the hoodie holding Pookie closer to his chest, tucking the hood tighter over the chihuahua’s head.

He was at least a good three miles away from that house–that  _hell_ –and was now approaching the bright lights of downtown Amity Park. The sun was close to setting far in the hills on a Friday night, so thankfully there was a rather substantial crowd milling about the sidewalks, finding merriment in shops, restaurants, and the movie theater.

Perfect. Dash could blend in and buy some time in this area while he figured out what to do next. But first…

He quickly ran across the street and turned onto Maple Avenue, his face becoming crestfallen as he saw the “Sorry…we’re closed” sign in Amity Park Veterinarian’s window. Drat. Pookie needed stitches, he knew that much, but he didn’t know how to give them himself. He would have to come back in the morning.

With a worried sigh, Dash headed back around the block to the plaza in front of the movie theater, taking a seat along the ledge of the central garden bed. He leaned back, letting his backpack rest on the shredded bark that surrounded the trees. The care-free happiness of the people passing by him seemed foreign to him, almost mocking. He was homeless now, although the years of abuse from his dad had pretty much made that a virtual reality already.

He looked down at Pookie, pressing a hand between the jacket’s fabric to the little chest and letting relief wash over him as his cold hand seemed to shock the dog awake.

“Oh thank god,” Dash whispered. Pookie didn’t deserve this. No one did. But he was never going back to that place. If there was one thing Dash abhorred, it was animal abuse. He’d rather take a thousand punches than let Pookie be hit once.

“It’s okay, Pookie. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.” He wasn’t sure who exactly he was trying to reassure with the words, but he continued to scratch under his chin until the dog’s eyes closed tiredly again. The two of them could swear off that place all they wanted, but more likely than not Peter Baxter would try to trick the authorities to get Dash back–again. He needed to hide as soon as possible.

Keeping Pookie balanced on his lap, Dash shrugged off his backpack and fished into it for his old phone. He turned it on–thankful that it had held its charge–and immediately dialed Kwan’s cellphone. After the fourth ring, Kwan’s familiar voice broke into its outgoing message before finally giving him the go-ahead beep.

“Kwan, it’s me. Please please  _please_  call back when you get this.” Dash was surprised when his voice cracked with desperation. “I-it was really bad tonight. Pookie’s…hurt. Please call back.”

Dash tried calling four more times, anxiety growing every time it went to voicemail. He was tempted to call Kwan’s family’s house line, but he didn’t want to accidentally have to explain himself to his parents. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Kwan was home.

Still, he didn’t have any other choices to reach out to in this situation. He would have to walk all the way to Kwan’s house…five miles away. But he needed a place to stay the night, and Kwan would be understanding and accommodating like the good friend he was, even if Dash had to wait for him to get home.

Putting the phone away and hauling the backpack up onto his shoulders again, Dash stood up and began the trek to Kwan’s house, figuring that as long as he kept moving he was less likely to be in danger.

Only he was still looking at Pookie as he walked away from the movie theater, so he was thoroughly surprised when someone crashed into his shoulder. He looked up and saw Danny Fenton and his sister, Jazz. Of course the wimp wouldn’t be watching where he was going.

“Watch it, Fentoné.” The vague threat sounded more tired than Dash thought he was, but he tried to keep a menacing front in his glare.

Danny had quickly put a safe distance between himself and his bully, trying to keep his sister at arm’s length. “Sorry Dash. Just passing through.”

“And stop with the name-calling, Dash,” Jazz continued, ignoring her brother’s attempts to quiet her and walking a bit closer. “He didn’t mean any harm, and what if it had been me, hmm?” Jazz was fully aware that Dash had not-so-secretly crushed on her early on in high school.

Dash contemplated this for a second, but exhaustion got the better of him and he shrugged it off, eager to just get to Kwan’s. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

As he started to walk forward again, Danny caught his forearm.  _The nerd must have a death wish_ , Dash thought. He would have to get him back next time he was at school, if he ever did go back. For the moment, however, he settled for giving a hard shove to get the kid off his arm, trying to hide Pookie in the process by bringing him closer to his torso.

Danny’s grip refused to give. He looked critically at Dash’s face, then asked cautiously, “Dash, why is your face all banged up?” He motioned for Jazz to come over, then half-heartedly joked, “Did you get in a fight with yourself?”

Dash couldn’t help but wince at Fenton’s choice of words. They weren’t too far from the truth. Jazz spoke first though before he had a chance to retort. Her tone seemed much more concerned than her brother’s. “Seriously Dash, you have cuts and bruises all over your face! Fresh ones. What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you. Now let me go. I’m just going to Kwan’s house, okay? And I…fell earlier.”

“Alright, fine. But last I heard, Kwan had to skip a date night with Valerie because he’s ‘on a family camping trip’ until tomorrow,” Danny counterpointed, crossing his arms accusingly.

_Damn_. Dash had forgotten about that. Well, it explained the missed calls at least. But how did Fenton know about that? He was about to ask when Jazz interjected.

“These cuts need attention. Now.” Her future medical aspirations began to show. But did he really look that banged up?

Dash’s hoodie began to stir in his arms again, and he heard his dog let out a small yap. Jazz didn’t even hesitate to push back the edge of the green hood and gasp in shock, covering her mouth with both hands, before looking closely at Pookie’s wound.

“Your dog needs stitches,” her voice was shaky as she continued. “I don’t know what happened, but please let us bring you back to our place and fix you up. Both of you.”

“Like I would trust any of the Fentons to help me. Why would you help me when I always wail on you?” Dash stared pointedly at Danny, who looked at his feet and scuffed at the ground.

“Because I know what  _that_ ,” he gestured at Dash’s face. “Feels like. And I know it’s not a good feeling.”

Maybe it was because Dash could verify that it wasn’t a good feeling, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He had been the one to cause a lot of that pain, when he knew damn well what it felt like.  _What goes around, comes around_ , he thought, ashamed and exhausted.

“Besides, I don’t think Jazz is gonna let you get away that easily, especially with the dog,” Danny added.

Jazz confirmed her brother’s thought. “He’s right. Come on, my car’s just around the corner.”

Dash looked back and forth between the two siblings, before he caved in, too tired to put up any more resistance. He did have one stipulation, however. “Alright, I’ll come with you guys. But you can’t tell another soul about this. Especially at school.”

“Done,” Jazz answered, taking her keys out of her pocket and ushering him towards her teal convertible. Danny followed on Dash’s other side, keeping a respectable distance between them.

Dash nodded, not really caring anymore that he was being willingly helped by people he bullied on a daily basis, and glanced down at the bundle in his arms. At least Pookie would get some medical attention. And at least his dad wouldn’t suspect the Fentons to be hosting him. And right now, that’s really all that mattered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fentons are good people. Dash is very fortunate.


	3. End Zone

The Fentons’ living room was smaller than Dash remembered, but that’s probably because the last time he had seen it, there was about fifty kids packed into it for a party (and subsequent rescue mission briefing). Now the room looked much more compact and…cozier.

“Let’s go into the kitchen, Dash,” Jazz told him, gesturing to the attached room. “Danny, find Mom and have her get the first-aid kit.”

Danny scurried up the stairs while Dash was led to sit in one of the dark wooden chairs surrounding a matching dining table. He carefully maneuvered his backpack off his shoulders while still holding Pookie in his arms, before letting it slump to the floor next to him. Jazz brought him a cup of water, which he graciously accepted.

A few silent moments passed as he drank, wanting to keep any questions about the night from arising. That didn’t stop Jazz though as she sat down, looking at him expectantly. He deliberately focused on the dog on his lap to avoid her gaze.

Her stare finally wore his patience thin. “Look, Jazz. I know you’re trying to do your psycho-therapist thing or whatever, but I’m not going to tell you guys anything. I’m just here to get Pookie fixed up. That’s it. So please stop, okay?”

“Fine. I get it, Dash. But keeping it bottled in won’t help. If you do want to talk, I’ll listen.” She gave a sympathetic pat to his shoulder as her mom came into the room, Danny and a fifteen-pound first-aid kit in tow.

“Great, thanks,” Dash mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t be acting grouchy, but he didn’t want to tell them anything. He just wished Kwan wasn’t on that camping trip; he could relax and say all at Kwan’s.

His front was about to be worn down, however. Maddie Fenton brought another chair right up to him and gently braced his shoulders as she took a good look at his face. “Hi, Dash. Danny tells me you’ve been hurt pretty bad, and by the looks of it, I’d have to agree,” she stated, her tone soft and caring. He found more comfort in it than he wanted to admit. “Does anything feel broken or sprained? What hurts, besides your face?”

“Nothing’s broken. But my hands are kind of sore, and my stomach is probably bruised. Back’s sore, too.” A throw to the ground. Kicks. Punches. Dash slouched into himself as she looked at him with alarm in her eyes. It didn’t take the Surgeon General to realize that he had been in a fight, even without his description. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from being honest with her.

Maddie gave him a once-over and nodded at the completion of her assessment. “Jazz, can you get him Tylenol?” She started to open the kit on the ground next to her, which practically came up to her knees. “You have a lot of cuts and bruises, sweetie.”

“Wait!” Dash interrupted her actions. He pushed the bundle with Pookie forward for her to see. “Before you help me, help my dog. Please. I know he needs stitches.” He pulled the hood back to reveal the dog’s head wound.

All her features went dead serious, causing her to take a few deep breaths, either out of shock or anger, before she spoke, “Dash. What happened? Who did this?”

He immediately shifted his gaze down, not wanting to drag the Fentons into the situation more than they had dragged themselves in already. Because if he told them, then they would call someone. And if they called someone, then  _he_ would put on his act again. And then Dash, and Pookie, would be forced to go back to that  _hell_  and would end up in even worse shape.

A sigh roused him. “Dash, please. At the least, tell me what happened to your dog. It will help me figure out how to treat him best.”

It was Dash’s turn to sigh. He felt very exhausted all of the sudden, his resistance wearing down a bit more. “He was…thrown against a wall.” A shudder of rage escaped him at the memory.

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at him, mostly in disbelief. He could see Jazz holding the Tylenol bottle with one hand, the other covering a gasp. Danny sat on the other side of the table, shaking his head in deep disgust.

“I’m–That’s…terrible.” Maddie could barely contain her own outrage, but did her best considering her audience. Dash may not like the Fentons in general, but at least they all seemed to have the same views towards animal abuse. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

Dash nodded a silent thanks as he took the Tylenol Jazz was now offering him. He gulped them down with a swig of water.

Maddie reached for a different section of the first-aid kit, pulling out a medical needle and thread. “You were right though. He does need stitches. I can do that right now. Danny, why don’t you start tending to some of Dash’s smaller cuts on his face? And, Jazz, honey, can you check on your father? He’s downstairs.”

Dash gently woke Pookie, holding and petting him reassuringly as Maddie began to swab some antiseptic onto the gash on his head. The chihuahua began to whine and writhe in the hoodie, but Dash held his chin determinedly, keeping his focus on him and away from the needle. “C'mon, boy. You gotta stay still for a bit. It’s gonna hurt, but you need this.”

“You have a very brave dog there, Dash. Don’t worry though. This should be quick, and hopefully painless for him. I’ve done this countless times before.“ Still, he could see Mrs. Fenton take a very deep and visible breath to calm her nerves before she began.

Danny, meanwhile, was already cleaning out Dash’s cuts. The teen’s eyes were focusing solely on the task at hand, a significant amount of willpower going into suppressing the fact that his patient was the same person who wailed on him on a near-daily basis. His expression was set in a hard, steadfast line.

Dash only became aware of Danny’s actions, however, when the disinfectant he was rubbing on ran into a particularly deep cut on his cheek. He bit back a yelp, trying to keep steady hands on Pookie. The sting brought attention to all the other cuts and bruises on his face. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to assess the damage his dad had done to himself yet. The area above his left eyebrow and his jaw in particular felt extremely swollen and tender. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could sense the beginning throbs of a headache. Hopefully the Tylenol would kick in soon.

* * *

About half an hour later, Maddie had finished the stitches on Pookie, and was now inspecting the job Danny did Dash’s face, with Danny and Jazz hanging over her shoulder. “Well, everything seems to be in order and bandaged up nicely. We’ll take another look at things in the morning. But first, you said your stomach was bruised up? Can I see it to make sure they’re okay?”

Dash shot warning looks at the Fenton siblings, realizing that he must have looked very vulnerable and weak in that moment, before complying with their mom’s request and lifting up his shirt to expose his abdomen. Even he had to gasp when he looked down at it. There were two distinguished areas of puffy red splotches. They each centered around what looked like the imprint of the toe of a boot, but Dash didn’t dare reveal their origin.

“Oh…” Maddie’s motherly instinct began to override her medical process for a second. “Those look awful, honey. Jazz, can you get him some ice? I’m afraid that’s all we’ll be able to do for that for now.”

Jazz fetched an ice pack from the freezer and brought it over to gingerly place it on Dash’s stomach. He tensed up, unsure whether it was due to Jazz’s touch or the sub-zero temperature of the boldly-marked “Fenton Ice Pack” that began to soothe his bruises. Once she was sure he had a good grip of it himself, she let go of the pack.

“Alright, that should be it then,” Maddie began, closing up the still mind-bogglingly huge first-aid kit. She eyed Dash’s backpack on the ground. “I’ll fill up a bowl of water for your dog in a bit. But for now, I’ll go set up an air mattress for Danny and get Danny’s bed ready for you.”

“WHAT?!” came the simultaneous cry from both Dash and Danny.

Dash immediately tried to explain his outburst, while Danny simply stood with crossed arms, miffed. “I-I mean, I wasn’t planning on staying the night, Mrs. Fenton. Thank you for fixing up my dog and I, but I really should be going now.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

His mind started to form the word “Kwan’s,” but he knew that Jazz, at the least, wouldn’t let him get away with the lie. He shook his head woefully instead.

“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend the night here. I don’t want you going back to wherever you were for  _this_ ,” she gestured at both himself and Pookie. “But you’ll be safe here for tonight.”

“But why does he have to sleep in my room, let alone my bed?” Danny grumbled out.

“We can’t let him sleep on the couch, or the air mattress. His back and stomach will be too sore for those, and I don’t want him to be more uncomfortable than I’m sure he already is.” She placed a hand on Dash’s shoulder. “Sorry, Dash. We don’t have a guest room.”

Dash could only resign himself to his sleeping arrangement for the night as Maddie walked away to get fresh sheets before he could respond.

“Well this is just great…” Danny scoffed, still looking upset.

“Calm down, Danny. It’s just one night and Mom has clean sheets for him,” Jazz reassured.

Danny gave Dash a critical look, before pointing an accusing finger at him. “Just don’t do anything weird to my bed, Dash. Or me. I’m sure Mom has the air mattress set up right next to it.”

“Like I’d even want to try. I’m just trying to block out the memory of it already. I’d suggest you do the same, before you blabber about it to  _anyone_.”

“Like  _I_  would want people to know about this. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

* * *

Another hour later, after watching some mind-numbing television with Jazz and Danny, Dash lay under the covers on Danny’s bed, his mind still uncomfortable with the thought itself but his banged-up body sinking traitorously into the mattress with relief. Pookie was snuggled up next to his torso, having made a scene earlier when Dash tried to make him sleep next to the bed, trying to avoid marring his tough-guy reputation even further. At least he could put this one on Pookie.

Danny was just settling onto the air mattress next to him. Everyone else was already in their own beds. He waited a few minutes after laying down before asking into the darkness, “So, were they steel-toed boots, or just normal work boots?”

Dash’s eyes, which were nearly closed, shot open at the question. He glared to his right at the ground, stunned at Danny’s audacity but also shocked at how he knew what had caused his bruises. “None of your business, Fenton.”

“Alright, alright. But I just wanted to let you know, steel-toed boot bruises last about two weeks longer.” Danny crossed his arms behind his head, glancing upside-down at the full moon outside his window.

Dash winced at this information. He hadn’t known that, because it was  _always_  the steel toes of his dad’s boots from his construction job kicking him. It would be his luck to get the worse of the two. “Thanks for the tip, I guess. I didn’t know that. How did you though?” As much as he hated to think of what he had done to his host right now, he knew he only wore sneakers around him. Which meant he knew from observation or…someone else was beating him up.

Danny shrugged. “Let’s just say, you’re not the only one who gets ahold of me. Or kicks me, for that matter.”

And there was the guilt. But now he knew there was at least one other unknown person wailing on him. That didn’t excuse his own actions though. Maybe–okay, most definitely–because of the circumstances of the evening and considering that his main victim was helping him out so willingly, Dash, for once, felt true remorse over his bullying. He swallowed his pride as he began to apologize. “Hey, Fenton? I’m sorry. For beating you up over the years and stuff.”

It was quiet for a couple of seconds as the weight of his apology sank into the room. Dash almost immediately felt stupid for saying it, began to blame the Tylenol or a possible concussion for it, until he heard Danny speak up again, much quieter this time.

“Thank you, Dash.” A small wave of relief flooded over his mind. “I’m just sorry that your sorry happened because you got hit tonight.”

Dash couldn’t stop himself before he blurted out, “It wasn’t just tonight.” A long pause. “It’s practically every night, lately.”

“Sorry, dude. It must be tough having to  _live_  with that for a dad.”

Dash’s heart leapt out of his chest as he half-sat up, subconsciously trying to not disturb Pookie. “How the hell did you know it was him?!” His mind was in a panic mode. If the Fentons called someone out on his dad, then it would be game over.

Danny continued calmly, “For one, I know it’s just you and him. And I’ve seen him before. He’s a scary-looking guy. And two, Jazz pointed it out to me. She said you’re an easy abuse case to read.”

“Fenton, I swear if you–”

“Relax, I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Not that. If you call the police or a social worker or anything, you and I both will never hear the end of it. Please don’t let your parents do that. Or Jazz. I’m just done with him, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t gonna. Besides, I figured just as much from your overstuffed backpack. Well, Jazz did.”

Dash lay back down in awe of the older Fenton sibling’s psychology skills. Even more so, he was amazed at the Fentons’ calmness and sincere trustworthiness, particularly Danny’s, with which they took in the details he had divulged to them.

“Thanks, Fenton.”

* * *

Surprisingly, Dash was sleeping soundly through most of the night. Until 3:41 AM, that is. At that moment, his eyes opened from the pure  _cold_  running through the room. Weird, he was sure he had seen a closed window when he first came into the room earlier.

He settled for pulling the blankets closer to his chin, and was about to close his eyes again, when he saw a glow emanate from his right, in front of the window.

A green glow, to be exact. Faint, but recognizable anywhere. The question remaining was,  _What in the world was Phantom doing in Danny’s room_?

Dash stayed motionless, but his heart was beating at an incredible rate. Should he be worried? Excited? Convinced that he was dreaming?

He continued to stare at the ceiling, his head leaning just to the left so it looked like he was still asleep. But he could sense the ghost boy’s presence still, taking note of how the haunted glow seemed to fade ever-so-slightly, as if he was sinking to–or through–the floor. Where Fenton was.

Dash sat up quickly at this thought, partly out of curiosity and partly out of something bordering on concern. But, to his surprise and disappointment, it was only Danny laying on the air mattress, sprawled out with the blankets half-covering him and a soft snore escaping his lips.

_It must be a dream_ , he thought wistfully. Only the ever-present ache in his stomach, back, and head proved otherwise. So why the hell was Phantom here? Dash’s mind started to wake up as he pondered over this question.

Only sheer exhaustion and soreness in his body finally brought him back to sleep.

* * *

In the morning, Dash awoke to the smell of bacon and pancakes permeating the Fenton household. He smiled at its alluring scent, before everything else caved in on his mind. Right. He was in the Fentons’ house. Because he and Pookie had been hurt. Because of his selfish abusive jerk of a father. And boy, was he hurt. His forehead and jaw were throbbing with bruises, and he practically doubled over on his stomach as he tried to bring his feet over the side of the bed. He was more than grateful for the ice pack the previous night, dreading what could have been had he refused it.

And then there was Phantom. Should he say something, or just chalk it up to head trauma? It had to have been the latter. Or, perhaps there was the rational explanation that Phantom was here “on official business” because Danny’s parents were ghost hunters and somehow that was all connected. Yeah, he was going to go with that one and leave it at that. And tell Kwan later.

Dash was quick to shower and get dressed, before picking up Pookie and heading downstairs with him. The water bowl from the previous night was still lying next to the fridge, so he gently placed the dog next to it.

Danny and Jazz were already eating their breakfast, and Maddie was tidying up the kitchen. Mr. Fenton must be in the basement again. Maddie grinned heartily at him as he walked in, beckoning to an empty seat with a full plate in front of it.

"Good morning, Dash. Have some breakfast, and I’ll check your bandages afterwards.”

The three teens chatted about nothing in particular as they ate. Still, Dash couldn’t help but stare at Danny a couple of times, amazed and slightly ashamed that Danny knew pretty much his entire situation now, and that he himself had admitted most of it last night.

After breakfast, Maddie was quick to check on his–and Pookie’s–wounds. “You already look a little already, though your bruises will get darker over the next few days,” she informed. “And you should be able to get your dog’s stitches out in a week or so. You can take him to a vet, or even bring him back here and I can do it, if you like.”

Dash looked her in the eye with the most genuine expression he ever had. “Thank you, Mrs. Fenton. For everything. It means lot.”

“Aw, you’re welcome, hon,” she responded cheerily. “And if you need a ride anywhere today, just let us know and I’ll be happy to give you one!”

Dash was about to politely decline, when he remembered how far it was from the Fentons’ to Kwan’s. That walk wouldn’t be fair to Pookie, especially in this heat. “I could actually use a ride to Kwan’s, if you don’t mind. But I need to go call him first.”

Dash excused himself from the table and went back upstairs to Danny’s room to call Kwan on his emergency phone. His friend picked up on the third ring.

“Dash! I’m so sorry! I had no service on the trip, but I listened to your message as soon as I got home. Where are you? You aren’t still in that house, are you?”

Right. Kwan was a chronic morning coffee consumer, and refused to drink decaf. Dash broke through the hyperactivity. “It’s okay, Kwan. Sort of. Pookie and I are safe right now. We spent the night at the Fentons’ house, and they fixed us up. Only came here though because Danny and Jazz kind of caught me off guard outside the movie theater. But can we stay at your place for a bit? Just until I figure out what to do next?”

“Of course!” Kwan answered without a second thought. “Any idea of what you’re gonna do?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ll probably have to get a job so I can maybe find my own place. Or I could actually go after that football scholarship upstate like I was thinking about. I don’t know about my dad though.”

“Well, we’ll talk about it more when you get here,” Kwan reassured, then quipped, “So, what was a night with the Fentons like, huh?”

Dash thought back on the night, remembering Phantom again. “It actually wasn’t terrible, believe it or not. But man, I must have been really hit hard, because during the–” His phone beeped twice in his ear, signaling an incoming call. He looked at the screen, then brought it back up to talk to Kwan again. “Huh, that’s weird. There’s a call from out-of-state on the other line. I wonder how they got this number?”

“Might be a wrong number. But anyway, stop by whenever, and I’ll see you later!” Kwan finished as he hung up.

Dash cautiously accepted the other call and slowly brought the phone to his ear, worried for a moment that somehow his dad had found it. But it was a suave, distinguished voice that answered his curious, “Hello?”

“Hello, Dash. My name is Vlad Masters. I heard about your recent difficulties, and I think I can help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! All done!
> 
> Or is it? Seriously, I thought I was done, but then I threw that ending at myself, and now I have ideas.
> 
> We shall see.


End file.
